Upon the head of my ill-starred parent, it was fated that the phial of wrath should be poured; and, sadder still, the first blow that smote him, came from the hand of one who would have laid down life to avert an hour of suffering from a father he loved so tenderly. My brother returned; the quarter-master had shaken him by the hand,--I, pressed him to my heart,--and our cottage once more looked what it had ever been--the abiding place of peace and joy. As evening closed, William strolled to his favourite haunt, the cliffs; my father pulled in his easy chair, lighted his pipe, and settled himself in humble luxury beside a well-trimmed fire. I retired to my own room. Mine were indeed melancholy musing. I recalled to memory how brief the period of my wedded happiness had been, and sighed to think that in the story of a human life, bliss and misery should be so intimately blended. But I was young, and “gay hope by fancy fed” whispered that there was happiness in store. I rallied my spirits,--wiped every trace of sorrow from my cheek,--and, in another hour, was seated opposite my dear father, and plying my needle as demurely as if I had never listened to a light dragoon, nor given my hand and heart irrevocably away, and sealed that imprudence by a secret ceremony. A footstep approached the cottage,--the latch was lifted,--and the slender figure of the lawyer filled the door-way. “You are not busy, Dick?” croaked my uncle Josiah. “Only with my pipe,” replied my father. “Then I’ll sit down a little, and take a drop of your Geneva.” I rose,--handed my uncle a chair,--Josiah took off’ his hat, and seated himself The lawyer having mixed his grog, I resumed my needle-work. Since Seymour had left, never had my heart felt lighter than it did that evening; but from the moment my dreaded uncle announced himself, a weight seemed pressing on my bosom; for every time he spoke, like a serpent’s breath, Josiah’s words seemed to wither the happiness of all who heard them. “I wonder,” said he, “where that fellow you were so fond of went to?” “What fellow?” replied the quarter-master, drily. “Why, Seymour, as he called himself.” “I can make you happy on that head. Lieutenant Seymour has gone to ------. Give me another light, Julia. Pipes now-a-days, are not what they used to be.” “But, where did Seymour go to?” “Go to?” and the quarter-master gave a puff. “His regiment, I suppose.” “Whatever news his last letters brought, egad!” said Josiah, “it regularly upset him. Mrs. Manby told me privately, that he turned pale when he read them; and he must have been confoundedly astonished, for he left the change out of half-a-crown upon the counter. I wonder what it will turn out to be? I think it will be debt; but George Gripp sticks to Ills first opinion, and says he’s sure it will prove felony.”